


lay you out in moonlight

by ALovelyLitwit



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Loves Michael Guerin, M/M, Michael Guerin Deserves Nice Things, Michael Guerin Loves Alex Manes, Valentine's Day Fluff, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALovelyLitwit/pseuds/ALovelyLitwit
Summary: Alex soothes Michael after a tough day at work.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 29
Kudos: 111





	lay you out in moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I keep writing these things! The only kind of Valentine's Day I'm celebrating is the Malex kind. Let them be happy and loved! <3

Alex stares at the screen on his laptop, squinting as exhaustion blurs the code he’s been writing and rewriting for an hour. Headlights flood through his bedroom window and he sighs, tossing his computer aside. He listens as Michael opens the door, stomps his boots on the mat, and hangs his hat on the hook. He’s two hours late thanks to a last-minute tow out on Route 60. Alex knows he must be bone-tired after a grueling twelve-hour day spent outside in the mid-February cold.

Michael putters around the house for a long time before coming to bed. Alex knows he’s trying to be quiet. Opening and closing the fridge door, turning the sink on and off. Lights blinking on; lights blinking off. And Alex sinks deeper into the mattress enjoying the sensory proof that his house is finally a home. 

Eventually, the bedroom door creaks open, washing the room with rain showers, burnt oil, and the winter sun. Michael frowns at him. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now. Did I wake you?’

‘No. I was waiting up, getting some work done.’ He moves his computer from the bed to his nightstand. ‘Long day, huh?’

‘The longest.’ He peels off his grease-stained shirt and drops it into the hamper, followed shortly by his jeans and socks. ‘Old Lady Faraway’s Ford broke down again this morning. It needs a new engine, but she doesn’t have the cash so I’m doing my best to keep that rust bucket running. My back’s on fire.’

Alex had expected as much. They aren’t getting any younger and spending countless hours bent underneath the hood of half the cars in Roswell takes its toll. Leaning over, he pulls open the top drawer in his nightstand and grabs a bottle of massage oil. ‘I can help with that.’ He dances the bottle towards Michael and crooks his finger, beckoning him closer with a suggestive smile.

Eyebrows raised, Michael sits on the bed and examines the bottle. ‘Is this some kind of edible lube?’

‘No.’ Alex snatches the oil back and scoots over to Michael’s side of the bed. ‘It’s massage oil. Lose the briefs and lie down on your stomach.’ He pats the mattress, still warm from where he’s been lying all night. ‘I’ve been taking a class.’

Michael does as asked, stripping naked and flopping onto the bed. ‘A class? You’ve never mentioned a class.’

Slowly maneuvering himself over the backs of Michael’s thighs, Alex settles his knees into the mattress until he feels balanced and secure. A soft wave of Michael’s telekinesis silently helping. ‘At first, it was just something to fill my free time on Saturdays while you and everyone else I know worked. The therapist who does my PT teaches the class right after my appointments.’

Hugging the pillow, Michael closes his eyes. ‘Honestly, I cannot imagine you taking a class that requires touching random, naked strangers.’ He laughs into the pillow and peeks over his shoulder. ‘But I’m more than willing to reap the benefits.’

Alex opens the bottle and warms the oil between his hands before pushing them firmly into Michael’s shoulders. A sharp grunt and then a low, deep moan falls from between Michael’s lips, and Alex grins. ‘They weren’t naked. And you work so hard that it seemed like a nice surprise. But I wanted to be good at it first, you know? Not spend thirty minutes tickling you or accidentally hurting you.’

‘Fuck that feels good.’ Michael groans and buries his face in Alex’s pillow, wincing as the pain leaks from his sore body. ‘And that’s such an Alex thing to do. Wanting to be perfect and know everything about everything ahead of time. Always so properly prepared.’ 

Their banter is soft and good-natured these days. Layered with truth and history and friendship.

Alex presses his palms into Michael’s hot skin still holding the memory of the sun just beneath the surface. His hands work their way through each tightly coiled muscle until all that is left is Michael-shaped mush and a red mash of handprints that mark Michael’s sun-kissed skin with promises, erasing the regret of the many years they didn’t allow themselves this kind of time, this kind of slow-burn build.

He hums to himself and takes the cut of Michael’s shoulder blades and the dent of his spine and the dimples above his ass into his hands. Holds the shape of them there, caught in the cup of his fingers. Reverent. He kneads and flexes his fingers until Michael whimpers and squirms and loosens, giving himself over to Alex to do with as he pleases. His deep, solid exhale the sound of trust, the sound of offering. His need an open wound that only Alex can heal.

The knots in Michael’s lower back feel like a minefield. So Alex takes his time untangling the painful kinks wrecking Michael’s posture, his muscles just shy of spasm. He unties each tender string of muscle, softly slipping them back into place. Marveling as his thumbs dip into the sweet flesh of Michael’s ass. White and pale and free from the sun’s burn. Easier to paint with the brush of his fingertips and the drag of a fingernail. A canvas so familiar and yet always such a revelation. 

And beneath him, Michael is now a complete mess. Melting and mewling and fucking himself into their sheets. Sweat beading along the curve of his spine, the cleft of his ass. Predictable and gorgeous and a dozen years of dreams spooled tight and then slowly unraveled.

‘Alex.’ Nothing more than an unmoored whine in the back of Michael’s throat.

‘Tell me what you need.’ Alex’s hands are back on his ass now, squeezing hard at his flesh and stretching him apart. 

‘You.’ He’s rubbing his cock greedily into their bed, desperate for more than a back massage. ‘Inside me. Your fingers.’ He hopes Alex understands what he’s asking, his brain already short-circuiting with pleasure as he leaks onto their sheets. 

The cap of the bottle opens again. Michael quiets and listens to Alex slick his fingers. And Alex knows how easily he could come just like this. Fucking his cock into the mattress and listening to the filthy sounds of Alex soaking his fingers. But Michael wants more than that so he tries to hold still. 

‘Put my pillow underneath your hips.’ He shifts from straddling Michael to kneeling between his thighs, forcing them to spread wide. 

But Michael reaches for his own pillow instead. ‘I’m going to make a mess.’

Alex slaps his hand away. ‘Use mine.’

It’s the voice Michael understands never to question. He moves Alex’s pillow below his hips and grabs his own pillow to bury his face in. ‘What do I look like all splay-legged like this?’

‘Like a really hot frog.’ They both laugh, light and easy. But then Alex’s finger pushes suddenly against Michael’s hole and the laughter dies, replaced by an audible gasp and loud intake of air. 

With his free hand, Alex continues to massage Michael’s lower back, sweet and gentle. But the way his fingers scissor Michael open can only be described as an assault. Brutal and swift and without warning, each finger a new weapon driving Michael closer to the edge.

And the way Michael shudders, the way the veins in his neck feather when Alex adds a third finger belongs in a museum. To be studied, drawn, worshipped for centuries to come. He is a work of art when he’s drowning in sensation, drunk on desire. And suddenly, it’s Alex who has never been able to look away, caught in Michael’s lines and his slopes and his angles. The web of his sex and the flood of his need. His sweat drip, drip, dripping onto their sheets.

Alex pauses, communicates with a pinch at Michael’s hip, and waits for him to take over. Waits for the flex in his back and the roll of his ribs as he fucks himself with abandon. Lost completely in the pleasure of Alex’s fingertips expertly massaging at his prostate between each thrust. His eyes shut tight, his mouth slack-jawed against the pillow, spilling a rush of half-feral groans and grunts, doing his damndest not to come until given permission. 

So good. Always so good.

‘Let go, sweetheart. You’ve been so good. Time to let go.’ Spoken tender but also a command. And Michael obeys, violently shaking with release and crying out desperately. Fingers clawing for purchase at the top of the mattress, bed linens pulling free.

A calm settles over them in the aftermath, a space for rest. But Alex isn’t done.

While Michael lies panting, Alex continues his massage down the backs of Michael’s thighs, over his calves, and into his aching heels. Working the thick oil into the cracked skin of Michael’s tired feet.

When it’s clear the massage is complete, Michael rolls over onto his back, eyes locking on Alex’s and chest still heaving with the effort of breathing, body nothing more than a puddle of release and satisfaction. ‘That class was worth every penny. Remind me to send your therapist a Christmas card.’

Alex beams down at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘And you really did make a mess.’ 

‘I warned you.’ He pushes up onto his elbows with a sideways smirk. ‘Now we’re going to have to do laundry after midnight.’ 

‘You go take a shower. I’ll deal with the sheets. I think there’s a clean set still in the dryer.’ 

But instead of moving towards the shower, Michael sits up fully and kisses Alex squarely on the mouth. ‘After my shower, I’m going to climb back into this bed and suck you off. The perfect end to a shitty day and the perfect beginning to our first Valentine’s Day.’

‘Oh, is that what day it is?’ Alex plays coy, but the glint in his eye and tease in his voice warms Michael from the center of his chest outward. ‘I hadn’t noticed all the very subtle hints you’ve been dropping all week.’

Michael’s smirk grows. ‘I was never trying to be subtle.’ He plants a loud kiss on Alex’s cheek and slides off the bed. ‘I’ve got a whole day planned tomorrow so we better get some sleep.’ 

He turns toward the bathroom, but Alex grabs his hand, staying him in place. Michael glances down at him in question, brows knitted softly together. They share a long, lingering look. A heavy but comfortable silence. Alex thinks of a million things to say, the obvious being _I love you_. Which they’ve said now, many times. But it’s not enough in this moment. It’s never really enough anymore.

Michael squeezes his hand, understanding the way words fail them. After all, how do you shrink the cosmos into a handful of nonsensical sounds? It’s as impossible as trying to collect all the stars in a mason jar like they’re nothing more than summertime fireflies. And so Alex returns the squeeze, and Michael bends over to press his lips where their fingers meet before disappearing into their bathroom for his shower.

The water turns on and Alex collapses back onto the mattress. And if his eyes fill with tears, it’s only because he’s the kind of happy he’d never trusted until holding out his heart to a man who had needed the bleeding, pumping mess of his chest to keep him warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my nonsense even though you should all know better by now. I love y'all lots.


End file.
